


Reprise

by Versatile_Doom



Series: The Rule Of Three [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bored Sherlock, Case Fic, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:31:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1433590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Versatile_Doom/pseuds/Versatile_Doom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new exciting murder case for Sherlock turns out to be a very well designed message that will rip all doors open to his past and will endanger not only his but everyone's around him future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reprise

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sherlock story and I intend making it into a multi chaptered series with a big plot twist(s) and new characters that may or may not have been mentioned in 'His Last Vow'.  
> This is a non slash story but interpretation will be left in the open. G rating for now but soon it will be R.

Uhhh, soooo bored. I check the clock for the 17th time in the last 8 minutes. 10:24am. I sigh again. This is torture. An actual harm is being done. To my brain. To everyone and everything around me. I grab my laptop from the floor and check my emails again. Nothing. I close my eyes and slowly exhale. I can feel it. The rage bubbling and boiling inside of me. Seeping into my brain. Suffocating. Killing it slowly. I can feel it. I need something. Anything! I get up from my chair and run upstairs to John's room. Purposefully stomping my feet as hard as I can. If I suffer, Mrs. Hudson should too. Why is she even here? Shouldn't she be off with...not important. She's as useless right now as the rest of the world. I throw the door to John's room open and scan it. Where is it? I walk to his bed and flip the pillow. Obvious. Honestly, John. I grab the laptop and run downstairs.  
It takes all but 9.4 seconds for me to guess John's password. Why is he even trying? I open his emails. Boring. Boring. Boring. Spam. Boring. Nothing. Nothing! NOTHING! I'm thinking of throwing his laptop into a wall behind me. The joy of the action that would pass through me would last but a second. John yelling at me would be less enjoyable. Not worth it. I forcefully shut it and start aggressively passing across the living room. Think. Think! Maybe I should go to St. Bart's and acquire some tongues. No. I need action. I need... Text message. Ignore. Most likely Mycroft with his petty problems. Think! I could go out. Find something.. Another text message. Glare at the phone. Ignore. Time. 10:35am. Is the time slowing down on purpose? Impossible. Another message. Yes. I think I'll go out. Maybe... Doorbell. Ignore. Mrs. Hudson will open. Doorbell and insistent banging on the door. John? Can't be John. He has his keys and the force of the knock doesn't sound like John's. Client? Shuffling. Mumbling, hurried voices. Someone's running up the stairs. Ah! Lestrade.  
"Why the bloody hell do you even have your phone if you can't be bothered to check it?". Red face. Perspiration. Hands clenched. Heavy breathing. Body straight and rigid. Left eye slightly twitching. Sign of stress. Nostrils 7% more flared than usual. Suit new. Cheap. Tried to make an effort in his appearance today. Failed. Shirt old. Cheap. Yellowish marks on the collar. Worn at least 3 times this week. Short brown hair on the bottom of the trousers. Cat? No. A rabbit. Shoes. Old. Well worn. Front of the right shoe is more damaged that the left one. Lost a case two days ago. Probably took it all out on a wall again. White powder on the soles. Chalk? 

A case! 

"Where?". I grab my coat and head for the stairs. A theft? Kidnapping? Suspicious suicide? Anything to get out. If I'm lucky a gruesome murder. Corners of my mouth pleasantly lift up. Oh, if only.  
"Science Museum". Interesting. "In all of my 21 years on the force I have never seen anything quite like this before. You", he points his finger at me, face frowning, "are going to love this. Heard of the Frankenstein's Monster?". I nod. My knowledge on popular culture is not as limited as some people would like to think. Not to mention the experimentation I've done when I was 13 to deny the possibly of such invention has upset Mummy greatly. "Yeah, well, then this is really up your alley then. You need to see this with your own eyes to believe it".  
"That remains to be seen". I sound bored. I've lost the count of just how many times Lestrade called in for me and it turned out to be nothing more but a 5. I look around searching for a taxi while Lestrade gets into the police car. I turn my focus back to him when he doesn't give any more information.  
"Not gonna tell you anything else. You need to see this for yourself. Trust me". Could be anything or could be nothing at all. Scotland Yard has the uncanny ability to exaggerate when it's not needed and has no trouble into overlooking the obvious. Like the one time, one of the many, when they've arrested a man for double homicide when it so obviously was just a poorly timed double suicide. Don't they observe anything?! "You coming or what?".  
"Not in...that". I motion vaguely towards the police car. I extend my arm when I see one of the black London cabs. "Right behind you." Lestrade nods and closes the door. Phone already to his ear. No doubt calling in to check on Anderson to see if he made any progress with whatever they are solving or more likely making mess of. Useless. Pointless. That idiot couldn't see anything even remotely useful even if it was showed right into his face with giant, flashing arrows. A monkey would find the murder weapon a lot faster that he ever would! Never doubt the intelligence of a primate. I take my phone out and send a text to John. 

"Science Museum. Come if bored. Come if busy.' -SH 

I look through the window at the passing London streets and buildings. I can feel my brain buzzing with charged electricity. Finally.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and reviews would be greatly appreciated.


End file.
